The morning after...

I awoke and wondered what in the world I was thinking. I wasn't sure this bike ran well enough to get out of the county let alone take off 1600 miles across country. Was this buyer's remorse or was it the subconscious finally getting it's way, screaming, "I told you so dummy"! I determined that I would need to paint over the interesting camo paint job before I left town...call me vain, but I remind you, I did not buy the bike for it's paint job.

I packed up the sidecar and tried to start it. After a while of learning the idiosyncrasies of this little beast, it coughed and sputtered its way to life. I headed for a Wal Mart and purchased some tan camo paint and some masking tape. I went around behind an old auto parts store and painted over the camo before I headed out. I then filled up the 5 gallon tank (and a 2 gal. plastic tank I purchased just in case), screwed up my courage and headed west. It must have taken at least 150 miles before I had a feeling of being in some semblance of control, but the beast was still runni....er...sput..cough...spit...spew...silence............... I was out of gas already. I looked around in every direction for signs of civilization and all I could see was sunflowers...really that's all. It was pretty out there, but also pretty desolate.

Fortunately, I had the extra tank, but I was surprised at how fast I had run dry. There was a head wind whipping me around and causing the little bike to suck down the gas. After figuring out that I needed to drop the windshield on the car, I had an easier time of it. I also had the custom made (expandable dryer hose) air filter system fall apart on me. After rebuilding that alongside the road, I was off toward Salinas, Kansas. This was the first time I noticed that when you leave the "retro cruiser-world" and take off the leathers and jump on an old sidecar outfit, any and everybody will stop to talk or see if they can help. I waved a friendly old farmer along though who wanted to help, and I was on my way.

I rode hard through Kansas, discovering ways of minimizing my bulk so I could keep from being pushed around. It was about 90 degrees outside and the Midwestern sun was beating down pretty hard, delivering a double punch of wind and heat. I was getting tired so I pulled off at a rest stop on highway 70 just shy of the Colorado line. I pitched my tent, blew up my mattress and laid everything out for a much needed rest. When you've ridden a sidecar outfit 500 miles in one day, you've accomplished something. But I was also getting used to how the thing rode.

As I was setting up camp at the back of the rest stop I was hearing this weird popping sound coming out of the corn crop just beyond the barbed wire boundary fence. I climbed the fence and went into the field a bit to investigate. I've not been around corn fields that close before, I guess. I had never noticed that they just pop for no apparent reason. Weird. Don't know what was popping but I wanted to make sure that it wasn't some freaky-like "children of the corn" that would come out and mess with my motorcycle when I was sleeping. Good news though, corn fields just pop...who knew (and I never saw any children either).

Ever been to the Midwest? Did you know that they have live radio weather broadcasts on outside loudspeakers at rest stops? I heard something about a storm moving up from the southwest and I had seen a flash of light on an ever darkening and distant horizon, but it seemed so far away. So I laid down for a much deserved rest to the sound of a weather alert and a popping corn field. I closed my eyes, told the corn children to back off, said a thank you and good night to the Lord above and then didn't open them again until I noticed the tent was on my face.

The wind was whipping so hard that the tent was bent down over my body. My weight alone was keeping the tent from blowing away with Auntie M and Toto and everyone. Then the hail started. Then I noticed that items I had left on the floor of the tent were now floating. I was in a Midwest summer sum-kinda storm and it sounded like a freight train outside. Then I remembered all those folks who lose mobile homes that show up on the T.V. news saying something about the sound of a freight train and I thought that I better head for the cinder block men's room.

Under the lights of the parking lot I watched the rain drain from the sky, dropping in sheets at an angle that got me wet even though I was well under a shelter. I had nothing else to do but watch and listen and wonder if my bike would run the next morning. After a few hours the storm passed, and I got back to my tent (that I had strapped down before I left it in the middle of the storm) and laid back down. I slept till some dang rooster (probably the corn children's pet) woke me up. I started the bike right up, packed my soggy belongings and headed for the Colorado line. I shivered and chattered my way 60 miles west until I crossed the state line and found a little town with gas and food. I needed some coffee, some gas and real good thaw. I figured that I would need about 45 minutes to get that done and then I'd head for Denver. But after breakfast, the bike decided it had gone far enough.